


fools rush in

by hawkeish



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Dragon Age II - Act 2, F/M, Red Hawke (Dragon Age), Sexual Tension, death mention, violence mention, violent threats are a love language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28790379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkeish/pseuds/hawkeish
Summary: Carver Hawke has become a Templar, and his sister isn't happy about it.Anders tries to stop her doing something she'll regret.basically 700 words ofwhat if you kind of want to murder your brother because he became a Templar when you were in the Deep Roads and I’m trying to stop you from getting killed in the Gallows but the spirit of justice inside me thinks your desire for vengeance is hot...haha just kidding...unless...?
Relationships: Anders/Female Hawke, Anders/Hawke (Dragon Age)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	fools rush in

**Author's Note:**

> Hawke's feeling a bit stabby - CWs for threats of violence/murder/death

“I am going to garrotte him with his own small intestine.”

Anders has Hawke pinned against one of the Gallows pillars. A forearm across her unarmored chest. A hand planting her wrist against the granite above her head. One of her legs trapped beneath his, so she can’t bolt. He knows she wants to. Even in the pitch-dark night, her eyes glint with it—fury, sorrow, the need to run and punch something very hard.

Anders is very good at knowing how to restrain someone, and how to hide from Templars. Almost two decades in a Circle will do that to you. Anders is also very, very aware that their bodies are pressed against each other. Drowned in thick shadow, they tesselate, all sharp edges and tensed muscles and hearts beating faster than either of them probably want to admit.

And Anders doesn’t want to know why, when Hawke bites these words out with a snarl, Justice is oh-so-quiet for a moment, before letting out an ever-so-gentle _hm_. A soft _hm._ A _hm_ of consideration, of appreciation, of approval.

Of…interest?

No. Fuck. No. This is _not_ the time for Justice to change his mind. Two Templars with too many sharpened weapons and only one brain-cell between them have heard Hawke’s voice bounce off the cold hard stone around them and have jerked to attention, and Maker, if the two of them are caught—if these bastards manage to smite anything about the Underground from him—if Hawke gets hurt—

_Perhaps,_ comes a thought, in a gentle and disturbingly mesmerised tone, _she is less of a fool than I thought._

No. Absolutely not. Hawke is a fool. Hawke is stupid.

_She is also very strong._

Sometimes, Anders regrets merging with Justice. When he thinks—or hears, or whatever the fuck is happening in his mind—these words, spoken in a low and beguiled murmur, this is one of those times.

_Have you seen her? Have you appreciated what she can do?_

Yes, Hawke is strong; he can feel her straining beneath him, almost too much force for him to resist. And yes, he has seen her. But no, he tries not to think about the things she can do, or the things she _could_ do, because they’re friends, or he _hopes_ they’re friends, and—

“Let fucking _go_ of me!” Hawke hisses, teeth bared like an animal, then darts a knee up to try and hit him where it hurts.

“The groin?” he hisses back, easily shifting his weight so she can barely jab into his thigh. Amateur. “ _Really_?”

“I’m going to murder you,” she snarls, jerking herself as close to him as she can get. Barely a whisper away, he realises. Almost cheek to cheek, faces turned away from each other. So close that he can hear the huffs of breath she makes as her heart pounds in the ribbed cage of her chest.

Suddenly, she grunts, and her voice gets louder. “And then I’m going to murder my brother. The _Templar_. Slowly, with my bare hands—”

“Hawke!” The word comes out as more of a whisper than a command. A plea, almost. A prayer? “You need to be quiet, _please._ ”

“ _Please_ ,” she mimics, and he can feel the heat of the word against his skin. Then, much louder again: “Is that all you have?”

The metallic rasp of armoured footsteps grow louder; there’s the shriek of a sword being pulled from a sheath. Other voices, confused and alert, bounce off the pillars around them, multiplying into a cacophony.

Anders’ heart plummets to the floor. His pulse skitters. They have seconds, if that, before they’re sighted. Why the _fuck_ did he suggest he’d search the Gallows after she’d disappeared? “Hawke, I swear to the Maker, if you don’t—”

“If I don’t what?”

“Shut _up.”_ His words are sharp as daggers.

“Make me,” she growls, then somehow knots her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and pulls him into a kiss that feels like waking and drowning, all at once.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! this was a joy to write, so much fun - I hope you liked it!


End file.
